


Without Words

by Ellia (LudicrousLegacy)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Cute, Dating, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, at the beach, the Eren/Armin is just a tiny mention so don't let it put you off, yes you heard me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LudicrousLegacy/pseuds/Ellia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco's shiny new love, written for the 'no-dialogue' fic writers' challenge. For abstergo-entertainment on tumblr ♥‿♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abstergo-entertainment](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=abstergo-entertainment).



On their first date, everything goes completely awry.

Jean is forty-five minutes late picking him up, his excuses of car trouble and frantic reassurances dying on his lips when he sees Marco’s watery smile, his eyes ever-so-slightly bloodshot. And yet he is nothing but kind as he slides into the passenger seat, reaching out for Jean’s hand to give it a soft squeeze. Jean’s throat remains tight as he drives them to the movie theater, though the feel of Marco’s fingers, gentle on his knee, makes him feel just a little bit better.

They end up missing the eight o’clock showing of the newest Titans film, and Marco has to be home by nine, so they end up feasting on popcorn and hotdogs by the concession stand, and Jean finally forgives himself when Marco begins to laugh. His freckled face crinkles up with unabashed mirth as he dips his fries in his disgusting mayo-mustard concoction, giggling as Jean flushes and gets ketchup all over his softball shirt.

Marco doesn’t kiss him at the door when he drops him off, though his gaze drops and he smiles shyly as he accepts Jean’s offer of a second date. He does take Jean’s hand again though, long, bony fingers hugging his own in a way that makes Jean’s stomach clench. His smile is nearly bright enough to envelop the dim porch in a soft glow, and he bites his lip cutely before rushing inside the house, bidding him a soft goodnight.

As Jean pulls out of the driveway, a freckled face peeks out at him from behind the drapes of the living room window. He pretends his heart doesn’t perform a somersault inside his chest as he drives away.

*

Their second date goes much more smoothly, even if Jean feels the overwhelming urge to kick himself firmly in the pants when it’s over.

He ends up arriving so early this time, eager to make up for his past mistake, that Mrs. Bodt ushers him into the living room to wait for Marco to finish getting ready. He sips nervously at a glass of watery apple juice, eyes continuously flicking towards the window seat Marco had been sitting at last weekend, watching him go. His heart is positively purring inside his chest, his unoccupied hand clenched tightly at his side, as he counts the passing seconds and wills himself to be calm.

He will absolutely deny it later, but a few drops of juice dribble down his chin when Marco barrels into the living room, face flushed, apologizing for his lateness. He wipes his face resolutely and clears his throat twice before he’s able to speak, thanking Mrs. Bodt for the drink before rising clumsily to his feet, leading Marco towards the front door and remembering to hold it open for him as he exits.

They head for a diner on the edge of town, Marco’s favorite, even though Jean can’t stand the place. He holds the door open for Marco again as they enter, and Marco’s beaming face puts the garish neon lights on the walls to shame.  They sit quietly at a booth in the back, Marco’s hand reaching for Jean’s as soon as they’ve settled in. His voice is soft as he thanks Jean for bringing them here, and Jean quickly decides that Marco’s gratitude is more than worth any indigestion he may suffer later.

He works his way through a greasy hamburger as Marco prattles on about video games and chemistry homework and softball practice, his face bathed in a soft, pink neon glow. Jean nods and grunts when it’s appropriate, his eyes trained on Marco’s throat whenever he swallows, watching his adam’s apple bob merrily up and down. Marco’s smile never fades, even when Jean’s foot, jiggling nervously under the table, accidentally clocks him in the shin. He laughs away Jean’s apology, wiping a spot of that pale yellow mustard he puts on everything from his chin, and offers him a french fry.

Jean pays for the meal, ignoring Marco’s protests until they peter away to make way for ‘thank you’s and ‘next time it’s on me’s. He simply smiles and wraps his arm around Marco’s waist, his heart freezing as Marco abruptly stops talking in favor of a dark red blush.

His arm rests lightly on Jean’s shoulders as he takes him back to the car, the scent of his cologne pleasantly washing over him, and it’s that memory that carries Jean through a night spent with his face buried in the toilet bowl.

Yep, it had definitely been worth it.

*

The old nightmare wakes him again.

He can still hear the screams echoing in his ears when his eyelids flutter open, can still feel the heat of the flames on his face, still taste the ashes and dust on the wind that howled through the abandoned city streets. And it nearly makes him sick.

He forces himself to sit up in bed, hides his face in his hands and shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore, doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want anything to do with these awful visions he always seems to be getting anymore. He just wants to make it through the night without getting plagued by nightmares of this strange dystopian past.

He reaches for his phone to check the time, and upon seeing the screen, he is abruptly and instantly soothed. The picture he had set it to earlier gleamed back at him, a ridiculous selfie of himself and Marco in the diner booth, lit in neon green and purple and sporting identical grins. Marco’s hand is on Jean’s free one, and he’s staring at the camera with that sweet look in his eyes Jean has come to associate with himself. The crinkled up corners of his eyes outline the glimmer in them that Jean selfishly believes he has hung in them himself.

He stares at it for a while longer before tucking the phone back beside his pillow and settling in to sleep again.

He sleeps better than he has in a while.

*

Marco finally kisses him at the end of their third date.

His fingers are trembling as he guides them into Jean’s hair, knuckles brushing against his undercut as he gropes for purchase. It starts out chaste, sweet, much like Marco himself, until Jean’s abrasiveness decides to take over, flicking at Marco’s lips with his tongue until he capitulates, opening his mouth to accept Jean’s intrusion.

Jean has never kissed with tongue before, but Jaeger insisted that it made Armin crazy when he did it, so he decided to give it a try. The feeling of Marco’s tongue, warm and wet in his mouth, sends a shiver along his whole body and causes gooseflesh to ripple along his skin. Marco’s hands are in his hair, Jean’s are at his waist, and it feels like Marco is trying to swallow him through his mouth.

Marco’s face looks like it’s going to remain crimson for the rest of his life, and it’s just bordering on embarrassing, the way his body is responding to Jean’s touch. Jean is half-hard, and his eyes are screwed up so tight he sees stars when they finally flutter open, his mouth inching down Marco’s neck.  He eats up every gasp, every moan that falls from Marco’s lips, his pulse beating thickly beneath the caress of Jean’s mouth.

Jean’s lips are puffy when he finally pulls away from the haven of Marco’s mouth, and Marco can only groan softly at the loss. Jean knows that he shouldn’t press, that he should be waiting for the okay from Marco before moving forward, but he can’t help trailing his fingers along the inside of Marco’s thigh, just once, to see him shiver and clutch at Jean’s shoulders just a bit tighter.

When they can finally tear themselves apart to say goodnight, it’s already fifteen minutes past Marco’s curfew, and he’s clearly torn between the desire to stay and the overwhelming urge to go.

Jean takes pity on him and lets him go, but not before pulling him in for one last kiss. Marco blushes, yet again, and stumbles out of the car, tottering towards his house like he’s walking on air. Jean stares at his retreating back and wonders how he’s going to survive until he can see Marco again.

*

The fourth date is nothing short of perfect.

At Marco’s behest, they head for the beach early, just when the sun has risen to kiss the horizon good morning. Marco spends most of the two-hour drive with one hand deep in a bag of Cheetos (the breakfast of champions, at least according to Marco) the other idly caressing Jean’s knee. If Marco notices Jean driving like a man possessed, he says nothing, simply crunching on another Cheeto and “accidentally” letting his hand slide upwards to stroke along his thigh.

_Little shit._

The beach is mostly abandoned this close to autumn, with only a week to go before school starts up again. Jean sets about laying down their towels and getting the sunscreen while Marco basks in the weak sunlight, perfectly happy to let Jean do all the physical labor while he sits there with a self-satisfied smirk on his freckled face.

Jean gets his due reward though, when he finally slumps down next to Marco, exhausted and sweaty from setting up the beach umbrella. Marco sheds first his own t-shirt, then Jean’s, clinging to him with a thin sheen of sweat, and reaches for the sunscreen, giving his nose a kiss as he begins to slather it over his chest and back.

Marco works methodically as Jean kisses him all over his face, lavishing all his attention on the spray of flecks that dot Marco’s cheeks and nose. He bites the tip of his nose, then his bottom lip, and then the cleft of his chin, causing Marco to squirm in delight and accidentally squeeze a streak of sunscreen out onto the sand.

Jean reclines back comfortably when Marco is done, resting on his elbows, watching Marco apply suntan lotion in long, smooth strokes. He smirks complacently at Jean as he does this, noting his eyes on him, deliberately flexing his muscles to get a rise out of him.

_Speaking of rises…._

Marco takes note of Jean’s less-than-subtle reaction with a roguish grin and a furtive glance around them. Satisfied that the few stragglers on the beach are all too preoccupied to look their way, he sidles closer to Jean, throws an arm over his shoulders, and reaches into his swim trunks.

Mortified, shocked, and aroused out of his mind, Jean can only mumble and moan as Marco’s cool hand strokes his hot, hard flesh. His technique is sloppy, overeager and a bit too heavy-handed, but Jean doesn’t even care, all his mind is capable of computing is that Marco is touching him, touching his cock, and his face is close enough to kiss, but the teasing bastard keeps pulling away from Jean’s questing mouth.

Jean bucks his hips, and Marco struggles to keep up with the new pace, his face flushed, his hardness bumping against Jean’s thigh as he bites his lips and groans like he’s the one being jerked off. But even as Jean’s hand moves forward, trying to reach Marco’s swim shorts, his hand is knocked away as Marco starts to pump even faster.

Jean comes all over Marco’s fist with a soft cry, fist balled up in his mouth, chest heaving with every breath, and Marco finally, _finally_ kisses him. Clumsily, his arms feeling cored with lead, Jean paws at the front of Marco’s shorts, only to find them damp, the hardness beneath them gone.

Marco has slunk back inside his shell, grinning bashfully at Jean like an errant schoolboy, his face a shocking shade of vermillion. Jean can only struggle to breathe as Marco kisses his cheek softly and stretches out on the towel beside him, smug as you please.

Jean rolls over awkwardly and rests his head on Marco’s shoulder, as the sun beats down on them and the waves lap at the shore nearby.

He thinks that he has never been happier in his life.

*

Jean has lost count of how many dates it’s been when Marco leans over to lay his head on Jean’s shoulder, fingers twisted in his lap, and whispers that he’s ready.

Jean’s heart skips a beat, possibly several, and his throat goes dry with excitement. Shoving his laptop aside and pushing Marco back into the pillows of his bed, the kiss he plants on Marco’s lips is clumsy, eager, but so is he, and Marco responds with puppyish enthusiasm. Jean thinks his heart could swell right out of his chest as Marco’s flushed face fills his vision and all he can see is tender, freckled skin.

Marco freckles all the way down; this quickly becomes apparent when Jean undresses him, cheerfully ridding Marco of the maddening obstruction of his clothes.

His boxers have smiley faces on them, and Jean thinks he could simply die.

Marco fumbles with the hem of his t-shirt, but Jean pushes his hands away, carnal hunger streaking through his mind and addling his brain. He moans when finally, _finally_ , Marco stops freaking out long enough to let him pull away his underwear, and Jean can feel himself going dizzy with lust.

He manages to scramble for the lube and condoms somehow, he’s not even sure.  He feels almost detached from his own body as he tries to recall what he’s supposed to do, all the articles he googled late at night with the image of Marco’s strained orgasm face imprinted in his mind. His breathing stops as he reaches out to slide the condom onto Marco’s length as he watches him with widened eyes, his freckled face flushed crimson in the soft light. Marco’s hands are still spread across his back, his breathing ragged and hitched, as Jean reaches for his hand and presses the lube into it.

He begs with his eyes, with the press of his lips, the slide of his tongue, and Marco begins to prepare him, slick fingers opening him up with a single-minded intensity that makes Jean feel heady and drunk.  His mouth works furiously against the skin of Marco’s neck, his chest, every inch of him he can reach as Marco’s fingers scissor inside him, opening him up with a slow, sweet burn.

When Marco slides inside him, the very room spins with the intensity of it all. Jean is straddling Marco’s thighs, his fists clenched against his chest as Marco pushes up and into him. The feeling threatens to overwhelm him, the sheer intimacy of having his boyfriend inside him, _inside him,_ filling him so completely. He whines every time Marco pulls out only to moan when he thrusts back in, slowly at first but quickly losing control as the sensation of Jean clenching around him becomes too much to bear. His thighs are burning but he barely notices, barely even feels it when Marco’s hands tighten on his shoulders and push him over till he’s lying back with Marco leaning over him.

Jean kisses the forearm straining beside his head as Marco moves against him again, and Jean can feel himself getting close. He lets out a strangled noise of warning as he moves his hand in between their bodies to stroke himself to completion, and Marco lets out a soft gasp as Jean comes all over their stomachs.

When Marco climaxes, a shudder goes through his whole body that makes Jean’s heart melt. He lets out a gentle grunt of laughter when Marco collapses atop him, breathing like he’s just run a mile and sweating like he’s run two. He wraps a shaky arm around him, trying to even out his breathing as he presses a kiss to Marco’s sweat-dampened hair.

In the sound of Marco’s heartbeat, Jean knows he has found his home, and for the first time he can remember, he sleeps through the night without waking once.

**Author's Note:**

> Stupid cute boys being stupid and cute.
> 
> Come visit returntomasyaf on tumblr if you want to talk at me about stupid cute titan hunters.


End file.
